French's  International  CoPYUioii   ;:u  (.in  England,  her 

Colonies,  and  the  United  States)   Edition  of 

THE  Works  ok  the  Bi:st  Authors. 


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CAUTION:  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby  warned  that  St 
"A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY,"  being  fully  protected  under  the  St 
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A  Little  Fowl  Play 


A  FARCICAL  COMEDY  IN  ONE  ACT 


BY 
HAROLD  OWEN 


Copyright,  1913,  by  Samuel  French,  Limited 


All   Rights   Reserved 


PRICE  30  CENTS 


New  York 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

Publisher 
25  West  45th  Street 


London 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 

26  Southampton  Street 

STRAND 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

A  charming  comedy  in  3  acts.  Adapted  by  A.  E.  Thomas 
from  the  story  of  the  same  name  by  Alice  Duer  Miller. 
6  males,  5  females.  3  interior  scenes.  Costumes,  modern. 
Plays  2^2  hours. 

The  story  of  "Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen"  is  written  around  a 
Virginia  family  of  the  old  aristocracy,  by  the  name  of  Dainger- 
field,  who,  finding  themselves  temporarily  embarrassed,  decide  to 
rent  their  magnificent  home  to  a  rich  Yankee.  One  of  the  con- 
ditions of  the  lease  by  the  well-to-do  New  Englander  stipulates 
that  a  competent  staff  of  white  servants  should  be  engaged  for 
his  sojourn  at  the  stately  home.  This  servant  question  presents 
practically  insurmountable  difficulties,  and  one  of  the  daughters 
of  the  family  conceives  the  mad-cap  idea  that  she,  her  sister  and 
their  two  brothers  shall  art  as  the  domestic  staff  for  the  wealthy 
Yankee.  Olivia  Daingerlleld,  who  is  the  ringleader  in  the  merry 
scheme,  adopts  the  cognomen  of  Jane  Allen,  and  elects  to  preside 
over  the  destinies  of  Ih?  1;  t'-hen.  Iler  sister,  Elizabeth,  is  ap- 
pointed housemaid.  Her  elder  brother,  Paul,  is  the  butler,  and 
Charley,  the  youngest  of  the  group,  is  appointed  to  the  position  of 
bootboy.  When  Burton  Crr.ne  arrives  from  the  North,  accom- 
panied by  Mrs.  Faulkner,  her  daughter,  and  Crane's  attorney, 
Tucker,  they  find  the  staff  of  servants  to  possess  so  many  methods 
of  behavior  out  of  the  ordinary  that  amusing  complications  begin 
to  arise  immediately.  Olivia's  charm  and  beauty  impress  Crane 
above  everything  else,  and  the  merry  story  continues  through  a 
maze  of  delightful  incidents  until  the  real  identity  of  the  heroina 
is  finally  disclo.sed.  But  not  until  Crane  has  professed  his  love 
for  his  charming  cook,  and  the  play  ends  with  the  brightest 
prospects  of  happiness  for  these  two  young  i>eople.  "Come  Out 
of  the  Kitchen,"  with  Ruth  Chatterton  in  the  leading  role,  made 
a  notable  success  on  its  production  by  Henry  Miller  at  the  Cohan 
Theatre,  New  York.  It  was  also  a  great  success  at  the  Strand 
Theatre,  London.  A  most  ingenious  and  entertaining  comedy, 
and  we  strongly  recommend  it  for  amateur  production.  (Royalty, 
twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

GOING   SOME 

Play  in  4  acts.  By  Paul  Armstrong  and  Rex  Beach. 
12  males,  4  females.  2  exteriors,  1  interior.  Costumes, 
modern  and  cowboy.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

Described  by  the  authors  as  the  "chronicle  of  a  certain  lot  of 
college  men  and  girls,  with  a  tragic  strain  of  phonograph  and 
cowboys."  A  rollicking  good  story,  full  of  action,  atmosphere, 
comedy  and  drama,  redolent  of  the  adventurous  spirit  of  youth. 
(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 


A  Little  Fowl  Play 


A  FARCICAL  COMEDY  IN  ONE  ACT 


BY 

HAROLD  OWEN 


Col-YMGHT,    1913,   BY    SaMUEL   FrENCH,    LiMITED^ 


All  Rizhts  Reserved 

CAtmON:  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby  warned  that 
"A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY,"  being  fully  protected  under  the 
copyright  laws  of  the  United  States  of  America,  the  British 
Empire,  including  the  Dominion  of  Canada  and  all  other  coun- 
tries of  the  Copyright  Union,  is  subject  to  a  royalty  and  any- 
one presenting  the  play  without  the  consent  of  the  owners  or 
their  authorized  apents  will  be  liable  to  the  penalties  by  law 
provided.  Applications  for  the  professional  and^  amateur  actir-j 
rif;'.:  :.i.i  t  'h  r.i.'.di.:  to  Samuel  French,  25  V/e.-it  4";'.  :'.rei 
New    York.    N.    Y. 


New  Yobk 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

pubusher 
35  West  45th  Street 


London 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 

26  Southampton  Street 

STRAND 


''A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY' 

All  Rights  Reserved 


Eopecial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession  of  this 
book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production  first  having  been 
obtained  from  the  publisher  confers  no  right  or  license  to 
professionals  or  amateurs  to  produce  the  play  publicly  or  in 
private  for  gain  or  charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performance,  representation,  production, 
recitation,  public  reading  or  radio  broadcasting  may  be  given 
except  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French,  25  West 
45th  Street,  Nev/  York. 

This  play  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment  of 
a  royalty  of  Five  Dollars  for  each  performance,  payable  to 
Samuel  French,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York,  one  week 
before  the  date  when  the  play  is  given. 

Professional  royalty  quoted  on  application  to  Samuel 
French,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  the  following  notice  must 
appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  advertising  for  the 
play:  "Produced  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French 
of  New  York." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law  for  any 
infringement  of  tlie  author's  rights,  as  follows : 

"Section  4966 : — Any  person  publicly  performing  or  repre- 
senting any  dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which  copy- 
right has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the  proprietor 
of  said  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  or  his  heirs  and 
assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  thereof,  such  damages  in 
all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not  less  than  one  hun- 
dred dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for  every  subse- 
quent performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be  just. 
If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation  be  wilful  and 
for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall  be  guilty  of  a  mis- 
demeanor, and  upon  conviction  shall  be  imprisoned  for  a 
?Tiod  not  exceeding  one  year." — U.  S.  Revised  Statutes : 
itle  60.  Chap.  3. 


A   LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY 

Played  at  the  Coliseum,  London,  on  Monday, 
October  28,  1912,  with  the  following  cast  of  charao 
ters : — 


Gilbert  Warren 
Sybil  W'akken 
Mr.  Tolbooth 
Mary     . 
Boy 


Mr.  Charles  Hawtrey. 
Miss  Ivy  Williams. 
Mr.  Leslie  Rea. 
Miss   Gertrude  Thoriit&n. 
Master  Noel  Coward. 


Scene, — Gilbert  Warren's  Study,  13,  Balfour  Mem- 
sions,  Baiitam, 


A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY 

Scnnt.— OrLBEKT    Warren's    Study,    13,    Balfom 
Mansions,  Bcdham.     Evening. 

The  room  is  furnished  inexpensively,  but  in  good  taste. 
Books  line  the  walls.  The  most  conspicuous  article 
of  furniture  is  a  writing-table  littered  with  papers,  at 
the  back,  and  on  it  rests  a  telephone  instrument. 

To  the  left  of  the  writing-table  is  a  double  door  space, 
with  no  doors,  but  looped  curtains  drawn  across  U, 
and  revealing,  when  open,  a  fairly  wide  hall. 

Fireplace  L.,  and  below  it  is  another  door,  used  only  for 
one  entrance,  by  Sybil,  with,  "  Well,  is  the  deed 
done?" 

Immediately  opposite,  in  the  right  wall,  is  another  door, 
used  mainly  by  Mary.  Lounge  seat  on  the  right 
below  door  r.,  and  easy  chair  L. 

Discover  Sybil,  sitting  l.,  restless,  and  book  in  hand. 
A  ring  is  heard,  repeated  peremptorily.  Sybil 
closes  her  book,  and  rises  in  agitation. 

Sybil.    Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear  !    I  wonder  what  fresh 
trouble  this  is?     {She  crosses  R.) 


•  A  UTTLE  FOWL  PLAT. 

{Entef  Mary,  back.) 

Mart.  Please,  m'm,  a  parcel,  mum—lroBi  th« 
draper's.  ^^  . 

Sybil.  A  parcel  ?  Oh,  veiy  well,  Mary.  Put  it 
ID  my  room. 

Mary.  But  I  don't  think  the  boy  wiU  leave  it. 
without— without  you  see  him,  mum.  He's  got  Uw 
bill  with  him,  m'm. 

Sybil.    Then  let  him  take  it  away. 

Mary.    The  bill,  mum  ? 

Sybil.    Yes,  and  the  parcel  too,  if  he  likok 

(Exit  Mary,  back.) 

(Sybil  crosses  l,  and  sits  down,  her  hands  daspd 
together,  in  distress.) 

Sybil.  Oh,  this  awful  little  pinch  of  poverty! 
If  only  one  knew  it  would  come  right,  I  could  b^ 
it. 

{Re-enter  Mary,  back.) 

Mary  {speaking  as  she  enters,  indignantiy).  Saucy 
wretch  I  Please,  m'm,  what  about  dinner,  ni'm  ? 
Just  on  seven,  and  no  meat  come,  m'm. 

Sybil.    W^at,  Mary  ?    Not  even  yet  ? 

Mary.    No,  m'm. 

Sybil.    I — I  don't  tmderstand  it. 

Mary.  Hadn't  I  better  go  round  and  see  the 
butchers,  m'm  ?  Master  11  be  blowin'  of  me  iq>  again, 
m'm. 

Sybil  {rising  hastily).  No  I  Oh,  no,  Mary ! 
{with  an  effort  at  dignity)'  If  tradesmen  do  not  choose 
to  execute  their  orders  in  proper  time  .  .  .  wcB,  they 
must  take  the  consequences. 

Mary.  Yes,  m'm.  Serve  'em  right,  m'ra.  Only 
what  about  us,  m'm? 

Sybil.  I  feel  very  angry  about  it — really  most 
tearfully  angry! 


A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY.  § 

Maxt.  Yes,  m'm.  Bat  I  was  only  wondering, 
m'm,  whether  master  mightn't  perhaps  have  forgot 
to  give  the  order  this  morning,  m'm. 

Sybil  {sitting  l.).  No,  impossible — quite  impossible, 
Mary.  {Improvising  an  explanation  with  difficulty) 
He  said  he  would  be  passing  the  shop  when  he  went 
out,  and  as  they  had  forgotten  to  call  for  orders  he 
said  he  would  just  call  and  pay  the  bill  .  .  .  and 
leave  the  order  at  the  same  time.  So  if  he  called  to 
do  one  thing  he  would  hardly  forget  the  other. 

Mary.  No,  m'm.  Not  imless  he  forgot  both. 
There's  his  key  now,  m'm. 

Sybil.    Ah,  well,  we  shall  soon  see, 

{Enter  Gilbert  Warren,  hack.    He  i$  an  alert  and 

good-looking  man  of  thirty. 

Mary  sidles  away  from  the  doorway  to  allow  him  to 
enter.  He  looks  from  one  to  the  other  a  little  appre- 
hensively, then  kisses  Sybil,  who  has  risen  to  meet 
him. 

At  their  kiss,  Mary  puts  her  hand  over  her  mouth,  with 
a  gesture.) 

Sybil.    Mary  has  just  come  in,  dear,  to  say  that 

the  butcher's  .  .  . 

Gilbert.    Why,  what  ? 

Mary  {as  Sybil  does  not  speak).  Forgot  the  meat, 
sir. 

Gilbert.  Forgot  ,  ,  .  the  , . .  meat  I  Impossible  I 
Oh,  nonsense,  Mary  1    Go  and  have  another  look  1 

Mary.  There's  nothing  to  look  at,  sir.  I've  been 
waiting  a  whole  hour  for  it,  and  the  taters  all  ready 
to  go  on. 

(Awkward  pause,) 

(Gilbert  looks  helplessly  ai  Sybil.) 

Sybil.    Very  well,  Mary.    {Signal  for  her  to  go.) 


10  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAt. 

Mary  {hesitating.    Hadn't  I  better  go  round,  m'm 

— «jid  give  'em  a  good  talking  to,  sir  ? 

Gilbert.  No,  leave  that  to  me — 111  do  the  talk- 
ing. We'll  give  them  another  half  hour  {determined 
voice)  and  if  nothing  happens  then  ....  why,  we'll 
go  without  dinner  rather  than  encourage  such  care- 
lessness. {More  cheer jully.)  Meanwhile,  Mary,  since 
the  times  are  out  of  joint,  put  on  the  vegetables. 

Mary  {half  apologetically).  There's  only  the  taters, 
m'm. 

Gilbert  {covering  up  his  mistake  by  a  blusUring 
manner).  Potatoes  1  Well,  aren't  they  vegetables, 
girl  ?     Aren't  they  vegetables  ? 

Mary.  Not  really  by  rights,  sir — only  when  it't 
two  vegg's,  sir. 

Gilbert.  Well,  cook  twice  as  many,  then  I  And 
get  out  I 

{Exit  Mary,  r.) 

(Sybil  immediately  hiirsls  into  tears.  Gilbert,  wearied 
and  troubled,  passes  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and 
then  kneels  to  comfort  lier.) 

Gilbert.    My  darling  ...  for  Heaven's  sake  ...  I 

Sybil  {through  her  hamis,  between  sobs).  Well — I 
can't  .  .  .  stand  it,  dear  !     Of  course,  the  girl  knows  I 

Gilbert  {rising) .  Well,  we'll  get  rid  of  her.  In 
fact,  we  must,  till  things  turn  round.  I'd  give  her 
the  sack  on  the  spot  if  only — if  only  I  could  pay  her  on 
the  sp^t.  {Bending  over  Sybil.)  But  don't  make  it 
worse  for  me,  dearest.  Those  tears  scald  my  soul— 
to  quote  from  my  own  unpubUshed  masterpiece  ! 

Sybil  {still  sobbing).  Leave  me  alone,  dear.  I  must 
have  my  cry  out.    I  shall  be  better  then. 

Gilbert  {cheery  voice,  moving  centre).  Go  it,  then 
and  get  it  over  I 

{Pause.    He  rumples  his  hair  in  his  vexation.) 

Of  course,  I  did  call  on  those  danmed  butchers  tl  is 
morning,  Syb. 


▲  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY  It 

Sybil.  Yes,  and — and  they  told  you — they 
WfDwldn't — wouldn't   send   any   more  I 

Gilbert.  No,  I  didn't  go  inside  the  shop  to  give 
them  the  chance.  There  was  a  man  swabbing  a  block 
otrtside,  and  I  gasped  out  the  order  to  him  and  hurried 
on.  But  I  did  think  they'd  send  it  after  I'd  promised 
them  something  on  account  this  week  I  {Another 
gloomy  -pause.)  That  cursed  cashier  at  the  Herald  \ 
I  asked  him  for  it  as  a  favour — made  an  excuse,  just 
to  keep  my  end  up — told  him  I  wanted  to  buy  a  new 
set  of  tyres.  "  What  for  ?  "  he  said,  "  for  the  peram- 
btilator  ?  "  The  brute  !  And  I  haven't  met  a  single 
soul  all  day  that  I  could  af^k  for  a  fiver  I  Joumahsts 
dress  so  elegantly  nowadays  they've  no  money 
left  to  lend  their  friends !  There !  {moving  towards 
SYBit).    I'm  glad  you're  through  with  it. 

Sybil.  I  couldn't  help  it,  darhng.  I  don't  mind 
what  we  go  through  ourselves,  really,  but  to  have  a 
acarvant  ...  I    Boo-hoo  ...  I 

Gilbert.  Oh,  damn  the  girl  I  (Pause.)  I'd  sell 
the  copyright  of  every  book  I've  written  for  a  ten 
pound  note  1  {m.jklng  a  cheeky  effort).  Oh,  by  the 
way,  dear,  I  called  on  the  agents,  and  they  said  they 
were  very  hopeful  that  North  &  West  will  take  Twin 
Souls.  They're  a  new  firm  in  the  pubhshing  world, 
you  know,  and  quite  on  the  look-out  for  hiddea 
talent  .  .  . 

{He  catches  sight  of  Sybil's  meLntcholy  face.) 

Oh,  I  know  you've  heard  all  that  before,  but  you. 
might  pretend  you  hadn't  I 

Sybil  {springing  up  and  putting  her  arms  ahont  him).. 
Dearest  I  I  don't  mind  I  I  dare  say  Shakespeare  was 
hard  up  to  begin  with.  And  we  shall  have  years  and 
years  of  happiness  and  comfort  in  which  to  look  back 
on  these  dieadful  weeks,  and  it  will  all  seem  so  comi- 
cal ..  •     {Her  effort  to  be  gay  breaks  down.) 

Gilbert.    Comical!    Of   course   it's   comical  I    I 


If  A  LITTLB  FOWL  PLAY. 

fed  the  humour  of  it  keenly.  Here  I  am,  a  man  with 
a  high,  intellectual  brainy  brow — in  places — and 
literary  talents  that  would  anKiint  to  genius — except 
that  I  am  much  too  sane — and  I  am  three  pound  four- 
teen overdrawn  at  the  Bank  and  haven't  the  change 
lor  sixpence  in  my  pocket  1 

(Slight  pause.    He  recovers  his  spirits  imtnediaiely.) 

Well,  apart  from  potatoes  and  stale  bread,  what  is 
there  to  eat  in  the  house  ? 

Sybil  (gaily).    The  banana  ... 

Gilbert.  The  banana !  Still  with  us  ?  That's 
good  ! 

Sybil,  A  few  sticks  of  macaroni,  not  quite  enough 
rice  for  a  small  pudding,  and  two  apples ! 

Gilbert.  H'm  I  I  don't  think  I'll  trouble  to 
dress  for  dinner !  {Suddenly.)  I  tell  you  what. 
You  must  make  Mary  have  a  night  out,  and  we'U  dine 
like  they  do  on  the  stage — a  lot  of  conversation  and  a 
Dibble  now  and  then  I     But  clear  Mary  out  1 

Sybil.  But  I  can't  I  She  had  her  evening  out 
last  night ! 

Gilbert.  Well,  give  her  another  1  Make  her 
have  it  I 

(Ring  heard  off^ 

Who  the  deuce  is  this  ?  Make  her  have  it !  "fell  her 
it's  stopped  raining  and  stand  no  nonsense  I  And 
111  take  you  to  the  Franco-Swiss  restaurant  round  the 
corner  !  (Ring  again.)  If  I  tip  the  wink  to  madame 
—or  better  still  (diving  his  hand  in  his  pocket),  if  I 
could  only  tip  the  waiter  rather  more  handsomely 
than  is  usual  in  these  parts  .  .  .  (counts  coin  in  his 
hands).  Fourpence !  Well,  he'll  stand  on  his  head 
for   fourpence  1    That'll  be  all   right  I 

(Re-enter  Mary,  back,  letter  on  tray.) 
liASY  (presenting  letter  to  Gilbbrt).    The  boy  from 


A  UTTLE  FOWL  PLAY.  IS 

the  butchers,  sir.    He  says  they'd  be  pleased  if  you'd 
kindly  give  them  an  answer  I 
Gilbert   {taking  note).    From  the  butchers,  eh? 

{He  turns  to  Sybil  as  he  opens  the  note,) 

An  abject  apcdogy,  I  suppose.  But  I  shan't  accept 
it  I  [Reading  note  in  a  murmur.)  "  Sir,  unless  we 
receive  .  .  .  Yes,  I  thought  so.  You  expect  a 
joint,  and  tliey  send  you  an  apology!  (To  Mary.) 
I  don't  want  their  apologies  .  .  .  won't  accept  them ! 
Tell  him  I'm  too  indignant  to  attend  to  the  matter — 
much  too  indignant !     Can  you  remember  that  ? 

Mary  {imptesseJ).  Yes,  sir  {stwnbling  over  the 
word).     Much  too  indigent  to  attend  to  the  matter. 

Gilbert.  Indigent  I  {impaiioiily).  Oh,  I'U  see 
him  mj^self  J 

{Exit  Gilbert,  back.) 

Sybil.  You  know  that  I  attend  to  these  domestic 
matters,  Mary.     You  shouldn't  worry  your  master. 

(Gilbert's  voice,  in  anger,  is  heard  off.) 

Mary.  Please,  m'm,  I  started  blowing  of  the  boy 
ttp  about  the  joint,  m'm,  and  he  said  master  had 
remembered  to  give  the  order  but  forgot  to  pay  the 
biU. 

{Violent  door  slam  lieard  off.) 

Sybil.  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  the  two  things  have 
somehow  got  mixed  up. 

{Re-enter  Gilbert,  back.) 

Gilbert  {to  Mary).  Clear  out  I  {He  re-pents  his 
tone  and  calls  her  back.)    Mary  I 

Mary.    Yes,  sir  ? 

Gilbert.  You've  got  a  friend  near  here,  haven't 
you  ? 

Mary.    Yes,  or.  Medusa  Mansions,  sir. 


U  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAT. 

Gilbert    WeD»  you  can  go  and  ha^  aa  ev«Ma§ 

<mt  with  Medusa. 

Sybil.    But,  Gilbert  .  .  . 

Gilbert.  No,  my  dear,  I  can't  put  up  with  any 
more  insolence  from  these  meat-purveying  peopk. 
We  win  go  to  the  Savoy  for  dinner,  and  Mary  (m  « 
U>tu  of  the  greatest  magnanimity)  can  go  and  see  her 
friend  I 

Mart.    We  aren't  friends  now,  sir. 

Gilbert.  Oh?  Then  you  can  go  and  make  k 
up  with  her.    An  exceUent  opportunity. 

Mart.  But  we've  quarrelled  over  the  same  young 
man,  sir.  {Simper.)  Neither  of  us  is  friends  with 
her  now,  sir.  She  doesn't  know  how  to  be'ave  like  a 
lady,  sir. 

Gilbert.  Well,  you  can  devote  the  entire  evening 
to  telling  her  so. 

{Ring  heard  off.    ExU  Mart,  r.) 

Sybil.  You  mustn't  do  that,  Gilbert.  The  girl 
will  get  quite  out  of  hand. 

Gilbert  (doggedly).  That  may  be.  But  she's  got 
to  be  got  out  of  the  way.  Either  we  give  the  show 
away  by  dining  on  mashed  potatoes  at  home  .  .  . 

Stbil.  There's  hardly  a  scrap  of  butter  to  mash 
them  with. 

Gilbert.  Very  'weQ.  Then  well  dine  at  the 
Franco-Swiss  restaurant  on  the  nod  1 

Sybil.  Gilbert,  I  couldn't  1  Every  morsel  would 
choke  met 

Gilbert.  Nonsense  I  The  morsels  they  give  you 
there  aren't  large  enough  to  choke  a  fly  I 

{Re-enter  Mart,  parcel  in  hand.) 

Gilbert  throws  himself  on  lounge  B.,  looking  peemsk 

and  gloomy.) 

Mart.  If  you  please,  m'm,  a  boy  wishes  to  know 
tf  you'd  kindly  take  in  this  parcel  for  next  door  flat. 


A  LITTLE   FOWL   PLAY.  M 

For  nnmber  12.  He  says  he's  been  twice  and  can't 
make  them  hear  nohow. 

Sybil.    Very  well,  Mary. 

Gilbert  {looking  at  pared).  What  is  it  ?  Taking 
in  people's  parcels  I  This  isn't  a  cloak-room.  What 
is  it  ? 

Mary  {with  unction).    A  chicking,  sir. 

(Gilbert  starts,  and  looks  from  one  to  Hk  ot'ier.  There 
is  a  pause.  Then  Gilbert  rises  and  approaches 
Mary  almost  stealthily.) 

Gilbert.  A  chicken  did  I  hear  you  say  ?  Let  me 
look  at  it. 

{He  takes  parcel — a  rush  bag — and  takes  out  a  chicken.)^ 

Chicken  I  It's  a  Surrey  capon — four  pounds  if  it's 
an  ounce  !  {Reading  from  label  attached.)  "  12,  Bal- 
four Mansions.  From  Cook  Sc  Co.,  poulterers.  Four 
and  sixpence.     Paid  I" 

{He  hands  the  chicken  to  Mary  xvith  a  sigh.) 

Paid! 

Sybil  {sadly,  but  with  well-bred  composure).  Very 
welJ.  Mary.     Better  put  it  to  keep  co<il  in  the  larder. 

Mary.  Yes,  m'm.  {Pauses  at  Uie  door.)  It's  a 
very  fine  bird  I 

{Exit  Mary,  r.) 

(Gilbert  and  Sybil  stand  looking  at  each  other  altnost 
guiltily.     Not  a  word  is  spoken  for  some  time.) 

Gilbert  {slowly).  I  know  exactly  what  you  are 
thinking  of,  Sybil 

Sybil  {starting,  as  if  suddenly  detected).  No,  I 
wasn't ! 

Gilbert.  Oh,  y^,  you  were  I  And  so  was  1 1 
You  were  thinking  how  much  better  it  would  be  to  get 

*  li  any  difficulty  is  experiencerl  in  getting  a  chicken,  it  is 
aot  oecessary  for  the  bird  to  be  taken  out  of  the  rush  bag. 


It  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

hot  in  the  oven  than  to  be  kept  cwol  in  the  larder  t 

Sybil.  No,  I  wasn't — not  really  I  I  was  only 
.  .  .  envying  them  I 

Gilbert.  Poor  little  dear  I  {WaUis  about.)  Damn 
the  chicken  I  I  wish  I'd  never  ^ seen  the  thing  t 
{Suddenly.)  Look  here,  Syb,  it's  a  mistake  I  It  ean'i 
be  for  Number  12  I  They've  all  gone  away  I  I  saw 
tlie  missus  and  the  kids  having  their  holiday  boxes 
shoved  on  a  gKAvler  this  morning,  and  it  can't  be  for 
uVh:  .  ,  .  well,  whatever-hls-German-name-is  t  No 
man  packs  his  family  off  to  the  sea-side  in  order  to 
surreptitiously  enjoy  a  chicken — not  even  a  German  t 
It's  some  mistake,  I  tell  you ! 

Sybil.    Then  whom  do  you  think  it's  for  ? 

Gilbert.  /  don't  know.  And  I  don't  care  I  But 
I  think  it's  a  Godsend  I  {Impressively.)  And  it's  a 
paid  for  Godsend  I  They  won't  come  inquiring 
about  it  to-night,  and  to-morrow  111  raise  some  money 
somthow  and  go  roimd  and  say  the  cat  got  at  it,  but 
that  under  the  circumstances  I'm  wiUing  to  pay  .  .  . 

Sybil.  Oh,  Gilbert,  we  couldn't  I  ReaUy,  we 
couldn't  1     It  would  be  criminal  I 

Gilbert.  Criminal  1  Not  at  all !  How  can  it  be 
criminal  to  take  anything  on  }'our  own  premises  ? 
If  a  hen  lays  an  egg  in  your  back  garden,  whose  egg 
is  it?  I 

Sybil.    The  hen's  1 

Gilbert.  No,  it  isn't  I  It's  yours !  There's  a 
celebrated  case  on  the  very  point — the  King  v  Some- 
body-or-other — Crown  Cases  Reserved — ^Times  Law 
Reports  .  .  . 

Sybil  {unconvinced).  But,  Gilbert,  a  chicken  is  not 
an  egg!  1 

Gilbert.  It  was  once  I  Besides,  can't  yoQ  see 
that  to  leave  that  chicken  calmly  there  would  be  fly- 
ing right  in  the  face  of  Providence  ?  Here  we  are, 
two  httle  ravens  waiting  to  be  fed — two  hungry 
ravens — ravenously  hungry — and  food,  sustenance, 
maima  in  the  wilderness  is  positivciy  thmst  on  us 


A  UTTLE  FOWL  PLAY.  If 

fhrou^  the  front  door  I  Are  we  to  inquire  too  dosely 
into  3ie  inscrutable  workings  of  Providence?  Are 
we,  when  a  miracle  actually  happens,  to  remain  scepCi- 
cal  and  imconvinced  ?  Are  we,  in  the  very  face  of  a 
providential  benefaction,  to  indulge  in  any  hair- 
spKtting  casuistries  about  the  strict  legal  ownership 
of  a  helpless  and  abandoned  bird  1  .  .  .  And  a  very 
iat  and  paid-for  bird,  too ! 

Sybil  But,  Gilbert,  that  Hyde  Park  oration  k 
all  very  well,  but  it  isn't  OMrs  1    If  it  were  claimed  .  .  .1 

Gilbert.  Well,  let's  face  that  point.  Do  you 
•oppose  that  in  three  weeks*  time,  when  Number 
i£  comes  back,  they  will  make  any  anxious  inquiries 
about  it  ?  In  three  weeks'  time,  mind  you  1  With  a 
beat  wave  on  I 

Sybil.    But  you  say  it  can't  be  lor  Niunber  12 1 

Gilbert.  Well,  so  much  the  better.  Then  they 
won't  come  inquiring  about  it  1 

Sybil.  But  I  mean  we  ought  to  find  out  who  it 
i$  for. 

Gilbert.    Eh  ?    Oh,  let's  have  dinner  first  I 

Sybil.    No,  now ! 

Gilbert.  But,  my  dear  girl,  be  reasonable  I  I 
can't  be  rimning  up  and  down  these  flats  tempting 
people  with  a  derelict  chicken  I  They  might  take  it — 
to  get  rid  of  me  I 

Sybil.  But,  dearest,  you  might  find  the  rightful 
owner. 

Gilbert.  Quite  so,  dearest.  But— that's— just — 
it! 

Sybil.    Then  if  you  don't,  Mary  shall  I    {She  rings.) 

Gilbert.  But  why  be  so  desperately  honest  when 
I'm  so  desperately  hungry  ? 

Sybil.    Because  I  want  to  get  it  out  of  the  house  I 

Gilbert.    Ah  1    Poor  httle  dear  I 

{Re-enter  Mary,  bl) 

Gilbert.  Mary,  touching  this  matter  of  tiiat 
chicken  .  .  . 


li  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

Mary.    Yes.  sir. 

Gilbert.  Well,  it  places  us  in  somewhat  of  a 
difficulty.  I  am  anxious  at  all  times  to  oblige  a  neigh- 
bour, but  there's  the  law  to  be  considered  .  .  . 

Mary.    Lor,  sir  I 

Gilbert,  And  the  law  is  very  strict  about  allow- 
ing corpses  to  remain  too  long  on  unlicensed  premises 
without  being  prop)erly  disposed  of.  And  that  applies 
equally  to  chickens.  Only,  chickens  have  to  be  cre- 
mated— ^that  is,  cooked  I  So  will  you  kindly  take 
that  body  from  the  larder,  ring  at  No.  12  as  a  matter 
of  formality,  and  upon  getting  no  answer,  you  will 
immediately  descend  to  No,  11,  then  to  No,  lo,  and 
then  to  No.  9 — ^no  further — and  you  will  ask  each  'tii 
tuni  if  tliey  expect  a  parcel.     Don't  say  what  it  is  .  .  . 

Sybil.  Gilbert !  Let  Mary  simply  ask  them  if 
that  is  their  chicken. 

Gilbfkt.  Eh?  Very  well.  Only,  don't  thrust  it 
on  them  1 

Mary.    No,  sir. 

Gilbert.  Don't  press  it  on  anybody.  Start  by 
saying  you  don't  think  it  can  be  theirs.  Second 
thoughts — don't  actually  show  it  them — ^you  know 
what  people  are.  In  fact,  don't  take  it  with  you  at  alL 
Just  refer  to  "  a  chicken  "  {casual  tone).  Say  a  smail 
chicken.  Or  say  a  small  bird — after  all,  it  ts  a  smali 
bird  compared  to  an  ostrich. 

Mary.  Very  well,  sir.  {Repeating,  in  disdainful 
tone)  "  A  smaU  bird." 

Gilbert.    Capital  I    That  sounds  hke  a  sparrow  I 

{Exit  Mary,  back). 

Sybil  (hut  with  no  heartiness).  There  f  Youll  be 
better  for  not  having  it  on  your  conscience ! 

Gilbert  {gloomily).  I  didn't  want  it  on  my  con- 
science I  I  wanted  it  lower  dowTi !  Still,  let's  hope 
lor  the  best.  No  12  isn't  there;  lo's  empty;  9's  & 
bachelor  I    n — all  depends  on    them  I    I    hope   to 


A  LITTLE   FOWL   PLAY.  19 

Heaven  that  Number  ii  .  .  ,  I  I  say,  Sybil,  the  strain 
of  the  thing — the  anxiety  ,  ,  , !  I  shan't  have  any 
appetite  left  for  the  bird. 

(Re-enter  Marv,  breathless.) 

Mary.  Please,  sir,  twelve  won't  answer — flat's 
all  dark,  sir  .  .  . 

Gilbert  {to  Sybil).    What  did  I  tell  you  ? 

Mary.  ...  No  more  won't  ten,  sir— ^t's  empty, 
sir.  Nine's  a  bachelor  living  by  himself,  sir,  and  a 
lady  inside  laughed  when  she  heard  me  ask  if  he  was 
expecting  a  little  bird,  sir,  and  he  got  very  angry  .  .  . 

Gilbert.    Well,  and  Number  Eleven  ? 

Mary.  And  Number  ii,  sir,  the  maid  said  that 
as  they  hadn't  got  no  company  it  couldn't  be  for 
them ! 

Gilbert.  Ah  I  (graciously).  That  will  do, 
Mary! 

(Exit  Mary.) 

Gilbert  (decisively).  Well,  my  dear,  we  must 
accept  this  act  of  a  bountiful  Providence  in  the  spirit 
in  which  it  is  offered — ungrudgingly,  and  in  no  mean 
or  carping  spirit  I  In  fact,  I  think  we  ought  to  say 
grace  to-night. 

Sybil.  Gilbert,  we  can't  I  We  mustn't  I  (Pause.) 
Besides,  it  may  be  tough  I 

Gilbert  (imperturbably).  WeU,  so  much  the  better. 
It  will  take  us  longer  to  get  through  it ! 

Sybil.  And  then,  besides,  Mary  bn't  a  fool ;  if 
you  think  she  is. 

Gilbert.  Mary  J  Pooh !  I'll  soon  put  things 
right  with  Mary  !  (Goes  to  door  r.)  Mary,  bring  that 
chicken  here,  at  once  I 

Sybil.  If  vou  do,  I  shall  go  out.  I  can't  stay  in 
the  room  while  you  are  telling  horrible  lies  to  Mary ! 

Gilbert.  Well,  you  sUly,  I  can't  teU  her  the 
truth  1 


20  A   LITTLE    FOWL   PLAY. 

{Ra-enter  Mary,  r.,  mlh  chicken.    Sybil  moves  to- 

wards  door  L.) 

Gilbert  {addressing  Sybil).  Stupid  of  me,  do  you 
say  ?  My  dear,  I  tell  you  I'd  clean  forgotten  I'd 
ever  ordered  the  thing  ! 

{Exit  Sybil.) 

(Gilbert  still  continues  to  address  the  door  through 
which  she  has  passed.) 

I  said,  "  Hang  it  up  for  a  day  or  two  so  that  it  will  be 
nice  and  gamey,"  and  I'd  clean  forgotten  the  blessed 
bird !  (Jo  Mary.)  Mary,  this  is  a  very  serious 
matter. 

{^akes  chicken  from  her.) 

Here  is  a  label  which  distinctly  says,  "  13,  Balfour 
Mansions  " — a  number  which  I  beheve  is  on  our  front 
door  1  {Discreet  gritnace  at  Mary.)  Perhaps  the  3  in 
13  is  not  quite  as  well  written  as  it  might  be,  and  I  can 
quite  understand  that  a  stupid  and  half-educated  boy 
might  take  it  for  a  2.  But  I'm  surprised  a  sharp 
girl  like  yourself  didn't  see  through  it  immediately. 

Mary.    1  never  gave  it  a  second  look,  sir. 

Gilbert  {taking  label  and  tearing  it  up).  Well, 
there  it  is,  and  you  needn't  give  it  a  second  thought. 
However,  III  overlook  it  this  time.  But  don't  kt 
such  a  thing  occur  again. 

Mary  {innocently).  Well,  sir,  that  would  be  rather 
too  much  to  expect,  wouldn't  it,  sir  ? 

Gilbert.  Mary,  in  tliis  life  you  never  know  your 
luck  I  {Briskly.)  And  now  shove  it  in  the  oven 
right  away  1  Here  we  are — close  on  eight  .  .  . 
{Puis  hand  in  watch-pocket.)  Confoimd  that  watch- 
maker fellow  I    Anyhow,  jolly  late.    So  look  slippy  l 

(Mary  goes  towards  door  r.,  then  turtiS,) 


A  LITTLE   FOWX  PLAY.  11 

.  Mary  {satm  innocmi  ait).    Well,   a  bird   in   \ht 
hand's  worth  two  in  the  sliop  any  day,  isn't  it,  sir  } 

{She  continues  to  door.) 

Gilbert.  Ah !  {calling  her  back).  Mary,  yon 
can't  have  a  little  lamb,  because  the  butcher  unfor- 
tunately forgot  to  send  the  joint.  But  you  shall  have 
»  very  nice  slice  of  thai  chicken  I 

Mary  {at  door).    Thank  you,  sir.     {Exit.) 

Gilbert.    Smart  girl,  that ! 

{Re-enter  Sybil,  l.) 

Sybil  {witliin  doorway).    Well,  is  the  deed  done? 

Gilbert.  Yes,  and  the  chicken's  being  done.  So 
is  the  man  who  owns  it ! 

Sybil  {coming  in).  Well,  I'm  so  faint  with  hunger 
that  I've  got  no  conscience  left.  But,  Gilbert,  sup- 
pose some  one  were  to  call  for  it  to-night,  when  we 
haven't  a  penny  ! 

Gilbert.  Well,  if  they'll  only  keep  away  fcr 
another  hour  we  shall  have  eaten  the  evidence  against 
us.     {Ring  cff.)    Now  who  the  dickens  .  .  . 

Sybil  {clinging  to  him),  Gilbert  1  Gilbert  I 
They've  come  for  it ! 

•    Gilbert.    Don't  distress  yourself,  my  dear.    I've 
not  gone  through  the  last  half-hour  for  nothing  t 

{Re-enter  Mary,  r.) 

Mary.    Please,  sir,  a  boy's  come  about  a  chicking. 

Gilbert  {calmly).     Oh  ?     How's  it  getting  on  ? 

Mary    {mth    unction).    Browning    nicely,    sir. 

Gilbert.  Good.  And^  what  did  you  say  to  the 
boy? 

Mary.  I  looked  him  up  and  down  and  said 
oothing,  sir. 

GUJBERT.    Quite  right.    Send  him  in  here. 

{Exit  Mary.) 


^  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

Sybil.    Oh.  Gilbert  I  whatever  shall  we  do?    Y«i 
see  chickens,  like  curses,  come  home  to  roost,  ^ 
Gilbert.    No,  they  come  home  to  roast  I 

(Enter  Boy,  seventeen,  apron,  back) 

Gilbert  {pouncing  on  him  immediately.  Boy, 
what  the  dickens  do  you  mean  by  not  sending  that 
chicken  earlier  ?  Here  we  are,  half-past  ...  {Ivand 
in  watch'pocket  again)  well,  half-past  something  or 
other  !  Do  you  think  we  dine  at  midnight  ?  Don't 
let  jt  happen  again.    There's  twopence  for  yourself. 

{The  Boy,  bewildered,  accepts  the  coppers  mechanic 

aUy.) 

Gilbert.    Well  ? 

Boy  {gaspinf^  it  otU).    The  chicking,  sir ! 

Gilbert.  What  about  it  ?  Is  it  a  wrong  *rai  ? 
Anything  the  matter  with  it  ? 

Boy.  I've  come  for  the  one  that  was  left  here  by 
mistake,  sir.     For  Number  12,  sir  ! 

Gilbert.  For  Number  12 !  But  this  is  13 1 
Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?  You've  got  my  two- 
pence on  false  pretences. 

Boy.    But  the  other  boy  made  a  mistake,  sir. 

Gilbert  [soothing  tone).  Very  well,  I'll  overlook 
H— I'U  overlook  it. 

Boy.     But  it  wasn't  for  Number  12  either,  sir. 

Gilbert.  Wasn't  it  ?  Then  go  and  tell  them  so  1 
Don't  come  bothering  me ! 

Boy.  And  the  gentleman's  a-waiting  for  his  dinner, 
sir. 

Gilbert.  Well,  so  am  I,  for  that  matter.  We  all 
have  to  wait  for  dinner  some  time  or  other.  You 
can  keep  the  twopence  this  time. 

{Exit  Boy,  back,  hustled  off  by  Gilbert.) 

Sybil.  How  cruel  of  you!  The  poor  boy  may 
lose  his  situation ! 


A  LITTLE   FOWL  PLAY.  t| 

Gilbert  (cailously).  Can't  help  that  I  We  must 
keep  everybody  at  bay  till  we've  got  four  and  six- 
pence in  the  blessed  house ! 

(Ring  heard  off.) 

Sybil.    Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !    That  bell  I 
Gilbert.    Go  to  the  door  yourself,  Sybil.    Mary 
may  give  the  show  away  ! 
Sybil  {crossing  to  door  and  liskning).     Mary's  gone  II 

(Voices  heard  off.    Gilbert  goes  to  the  door,  listening 
ai  Sybil's  side.) 

{Both  then  steal  on  tip-toe  to  the  centre  again.) 

{Re-enter  Mary.) 

Mary.  It's  that  boy  again,  sir.  {Innocently.) 
He  says  he  can't  make  Number  12  hear  nohow. 

{Exit  Mary.   Gilbert  goes  to  door.) 

Gilbert  {calling).  Well,  and  what  do  you  want 
this  time  ? 

Boy  {without).  Can't  make  'em  hear,  sir.  It's  aU 
dark! 

Gilbert.  Oh}  Perhaps  they've  gone  to  the 
theatre.    They're  very  fond  of  the  theatre,  I  know. 

Boy  {wilnvut).    Well,  what  am  I  to  do  ? 

Gilbert.  Shut  the  door — gently.  Good  night. 
And  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you. 

Boy  {without).    Oh,  I'm  off  home  I 

Gilbert  {comes  centre  again).    Whew  I 

Sybil.  Gilbert,  we  are  going  to  get  into  the  most 
aiwful  disgrace  for  this  I 

Gilbert  {impatienily).  Well,  tradespeople  should 
be  more  careful.  They've  no  right  to  go  about  leav- 
ing chickens  at  people's  doors  as  though  they  were 


U  A  LITTLE   FOWL  PLAY. 

bandbflk.    Besides,    thirteen's   an    unlticky  ntimb6t 
ior  that  sort  of  thing  I 

{Ring  heard  off.) 

Gilbert.  What,  another  of  'em !  We'll  have  the 
lights  turned  out  and  open  the  door  to  nobody  1 

Sybil.  Yes.  and  this  time  they  won't  go  away 
without  it ! 

Gilbert.  Oh;  well  if  the  worst  comes  to  th« 
worst  .  .  . 

Sybil.    Well  .  .  .? 

Gilbert.  Why,  I  shall  have  to  tell  some  lie  or 
other,  for  once.  Besides,  we  can  put  everybody  on 
to  Number  12,  and  they  can  knock  at  Number  12  for 
three  weeks,  for  anything  I  care. 

{Re-enier  Mary,  back,  followed  by  Tolbooth.    He  is 

fijty-jive,  corpulent,  very  polite) 

Mary  (showing  him  up).    A  gentleman,  sir,  from 

downstairs. 

(Gilbert  af%d  Sybil  excfuznge  anxious  glances.) 

(Gilbert  gazes  at  him  from  behind  the  lounge,  where  hs 
has   retired   as   if  to   entrench   himself.) 

Tolbooth.  Good  evening — good  evening.  My 
name's  Tolbooth.  Number  2  down  in  the  basement  .  .  . 

Gilbert  {prepared  for  the  worst  and  his  self-confi- 
dence  weakened).    Ah,   good   evening  I 

Tolbooth.  And  I  learn  from  the  porter  down- 
stairs that  you  have  a  telephone  here — ^the  only  one 
in  these  flats.  Might  I  crave  the  kindness  to  be  al- 
lowed to  use  the  instrument  on  a  matter  of  some 
urgency  ? 

Gilbert  {immensely  relieved,  with  a  sudden  bursi 
of  joviality).  Ah  1  The  telephone  !  Why,  certainly 
— my  dear  sir  I  Dehghted — why  the  devil  didn't  you 
My  so  before?    Delighted  1    Shall  we  go  out? 


A  UTTLE   FOWL  PLAY.  M 

ToLBOOTH  {taking  paper  from  his  pockefj.  Oh,  no, 
pray  I 

Gilbert  {handing  telephone  directory).    The  book  ? 

ToLBOOTH,  Thanks,  out  I  have  copied  the  oamber 
here, 

{He    sits    at   the  instrumetU,    Gilbert   and   Sybil 
exchange  reassured  glances,  and  move  down  stage.) 

Gilbert.    Lucky  they  haven't  cut  us  off  yet  I 

ToLBOOTH  {speaking  in  instrument).  Are  you 
there  ?  Well,  I  want  to  speak  to  Tooting.  I  want 
2222  Tooting  1  Are  you  there  ?  I  say  I  want  2222 
Tooting.  Four  two's  for  Too-Tooting.  What  ?  No, 
I'm  not  tooting.  I  said  I  UHiut  T-T-Tooting.  Yes. 
2222  Tooting.  What  do  you  say  ?  Don't  say  2222  ? 
But  I  must,  because  that's  the  number.  T-t-t-t-t-t- 
...  oh,  dear  !  Eh  ?  Oh,  you  want  me  to  say  double 
two,  double  two  Tooting.  Very  well,  my  dear  girl, 
anything  to  get  on.  Please  give  me  double  two 
double  you  ...  Oh,  damn  I  why  do  people  have  such 
stupid  numbers  ?  Now,  please  listen  very  caxefully. 
I  want  2 — 2 — {he  bounces  in  his  seat  at  each  figure) 
2—2 —  Toot-Toot-Too  .  .  .  {Turning  to  Gilbert.) 
Really,  this  is  t-t-t-too  awful ! — ^it  m-m-makes  me 
st-st-stammer  I 

(Gilbert  taking  'phone  from  him.) 

Gilbert.  Shall  I  have  a  go  ?  I  used  to  be  tutor, 
so  let  me  have  a  toot ! 

Tolbooth.  No,  thanks,  I'll  sing  it/  {In  'phone, 
itnmusically).  Will  you  kindly  give  me — now  get 
ready  ! — ^Two-and-two  and  two-tmd-two,  Tut-tut-tut- 
tut  Too-ooting  (  There  !  Are  you  there  ?  Are  you 
two-two-two  .  .  .  No,  I  won't  begin  thai  again  few 
anything.    Are  you  Cook  &  Son,  poulterers  ? 

(Gilbert  and  Sybil  start  violently.) 

Cook  &  Son,   poulterers,  I  say  ?    Well,  what  the 
<kvil  .  .  . 


^  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

(He  turns  quickly  to  Sybil,  who  is  now  clinging  to 

Gilbert.) 

ToLBOOTH  {continuing).  I'm  sure  I  beg  your  par- 
don, but  I'm  so  used  to  talking  to  printers  and  liter- 
ary men.  {In  'pJwne  again.)  I  say,  what  the  devil 
have  you  done  with  my  chicken  ?  What  ?  Shut 
up  ?  Me  shut  up !  Oh.  the  shop.  What  boy  ? 
Never  seen  him.  What  I  Left  it  at  Number  12  ? 
My  chicken  I  And  you've  sent  him  back  for  it  ? 
Gone  home  I  {Screaming  it.)  Not  with  my  chicken  1 
Well,  I  hold  you  responsible.  Apologies  ?  They're 
no  good  to  a  hungry  man  !  I  want  my  chicken  that 
you've  had  my  money  for  1 

(Puis  up  receiver  and  rises,  mopping  his  brow  after  his 

exertions — he  does  not  notice  the  agitation  0/  Gilbert 
and  Sybil.) 

{fie  then  takes   nwn^  from   his   pocket,  crosses   to 
Gilbert,  and  offers  him  the  coins.) 

ToLBOOTH.     I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you, 
Gilbert  {taking  coi?is).    What's  this  for  ? 
ToLBOOTH.    T-twopence  for  the  t-telephone;. 
Gilbert.    My  dear  sir,  absurd  I 
ToLBOOTH.    That  makes  four  and  eightpence,  and 
I  haven't  got  my  chicken. 

(fig  backs  away  from  Gilbert,  who  proffers  the  coppers 

unenthusiastically. ) 

Gilbert.  Oh,  well — ^people  in  our  station  of  life 
can't  quarrel  over  coppers,  I'll  go  on  the  bust  with 
these  1  {Aside.)  I  mean  on  the  bus.  Damned 
bandy  for  to-morrow !     {He   pockets  the  coins.) 

ToLBOOTH.  I've  just  been  inquiring — as  perhaps 
you  heard — about  a  fowl  ...  a  fowl  that  has  gone 
astray. 

Gilbert.    A  fowl  I    Not  a  prize  hen,  I  trust    {He 


A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY.  If 

does  m  chanticleer  strui).  Not  a  valuable — high-bred 
bird? 

ToLBOOTH.  Oh,  no— of  the  precise  value  of  four 
and  sixpence.  But  I'm  m  doubt  whether  the  boy 
has  quite  told  a  straight  tale  or  whether  he's  gone 
home  with  my  chicken,  or  whether  .  .  . 

Gilbert.  Ah,  I  see !  And  so  you  suspect  foul 
play  ?  That,  of  course,  is  merely  a  play  on  the  word 
fowl. 

ToLBOOTH.  Ha,  ha  f  Or  whether,  fortunately,  it 
is  safely  at  Number  12 ! 

Gilbert  {bustling  him  otU).  Number  12  I  Im- 
mediately opposite,  my  dear  sir,  immediately  oppo- 
site ! 

ToLBOOTH.  Ah,  thanks.  {He  starts  to  go  and 
returns.)  Thanks.  It  was  really  for  Number  2 — 
{same  bimness)  or  I  should  say  {tapping  his  chest)  for 
Number  One.  But  Number  12  has  got  no  business 
with  it  at  all.     {He  starts  to  go.) 

Gilbert.  Of  course  not.  But  perhaps  they  have 
discovered  their  mistake  by  now  and  are  waiting  for 
you  to  call  for  it. 

ToLBOOTH  {at  door).  I'm  sure  I  hope  so.  The  fact 
is,  I'm  expecting  a  guest  to  dinner,  and  it's  very  awk- 
ward. .  .  .  Fortunately,  he  hasn't  turned  up,  but 
there's  my  own  dinner  to  be  considered,  and  the  truth 
is,  I'm  very  hungry.  {Same  bus.)  Thanks,  thanks. 
Good  evening.  I  sincerely  hope  that  Number  12 
found  out  their  mistake  {as  he  goes  out)  before  anything 
of  a  culinary  nature  happened  to  my  chicken  I 

{Exit  ToLBOOTH,  back.) 

Gilbert.     Well,  I  reckon  we've  earned  our  dinner  I 
Sybil.    That  poor  old  man  I    I  nearly  blurted  out 

the  truth ! 
Gilbert.    Well,  I'm  jolly  glad  you  didn't.    I  have 

done  a  far,  far  better  thing,  for  I  have  sent  him  to 

Number  12,  where  there  is  oo  one  to  tell  him  the 

dreadful  truth. 


■n  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

,  {Angry  voices  heard  off^ 

Listen  1    Usten  i 

{Voiu  continues.) 

Sybil.    Niimbet  Twelve's  at  home  I 
Gilbert.    Good  Lord  I    No ! 

{Amid  the  noise  outside  can  be  distinguished  the  words, 
in  broken  English,  "  I  tell  you  I  know  nodings  of 
your  shickens!  Go  away  and  get  sober  I  Go 
away  I ") 

Sybil.  Oh,  this  is  too  awful  for  words  I  It  isn't 
only  stealing !    It  might  almost  lead  to  murder  ! 

Gilbert  {grimly).  It  will  1  How  was  I  to  know 
Ibat  that  fool  of  a  Nmnber  Twelve  would  come  back  ? 

(Voices  continue.) 

Sybil.  Well,  let's  call  the  poor  old  man  back  and 
Ihrow  ourselves  on  his  mercy  I 

Gilbert.  If  we  did  that,  how  could  we  throw  our- 
aelves  on  his  chicken  ? 

Sybil.    Gilbert,  let's  make  a  clean  breast  of  it! 

Gilbert  (Jraniically).  How  can  we,  when  the 
dean  breast  of  it's  in  our  oven  ! 

{Jie-enier  Tolbooth,  breathless.) 
(Sybil  clings  to  Gilbert's  hand.) 

Tolbooth.  I'm  sorry — very  sorry — ^but  would  you 
mmd  coming— to  testify  before  this  foreign  gentle- 
man .  .  .  ? 

Gilbert  {aghast).    If 

Tolbooth.  Yes,  and  swear  5^u  heard  me  being 
told  on  the  telephone  that  my  chicken  was  at  Number 

lal 

Gilbert.    But  I  didn't  hear  it    I  was  standing 

ova  there  I 
Tolbooth.    Yes,  but  he  says  he  has  only  just  come 


A  LITTLE   FOWL  PLAY.  tf 

la.  and  that  he's  packing  up  to  catch  the  nine  o'clock 
to  "  shoin  his  wive  andt  familee,**  and  that  he  has 
never  seen  my  chicken  I 

Gilbert.  Well,  perhaps  his  wife  and  family  have 
taken  it  with  them. 

ToLBOOTH.  No,  sir,  no  i  /  can  smeU  it  cooking  I 
Can't  you  ? 

(Gilbert  and  Sybil  clutch  each  other  violently.     They 

all  sniff.) 

Gilbert.  There  certainly  does  .  .  .  seem  ...  a 
rather  faint.  .  .  . 

(ToLBOOTH  goes  hack  vigorously  sniffmg,  leuinng  them 

standing  R.) 

Sybil  {half  hysterical).  Yes,  I  can  perceive  ...  a 
faint  .  .  .  i 

{She  suddenly  shrieks,  hysterically.) 

Gilbert  {at  her  side).  Pull  yourself  together — ami 
go  and  close  that  kitchen  door  till  I've  got  hira  out 
of  the  house  1 

{He  pushes  Sybil  off  r.,  and  then  goes  to  stand  again  ai 
Tolbooth's  side.    Tolbooth  is  still  sniffing.) 

Gilbert,  No  {sniff).  No  I  {decisively).  That's 
not  {sniff)  chicken  !  A  duck — {sniff)  perhaps.  .  .  , 
But  I  don't  think  it's  chicken  I 

Tolbooth,    I  do  I    And  it's  my  chicken  ! 

Gilbert.  Well,  of  course,  I  don't  know  what  your 
chicken  smells  like.  But  I  think  it  was  only  your 
heated  imagination. 

Tolbooth  {sniff).  Certainly,  it  doesn't  seem  quite 
so  strong  now.  I'm  so  hungry  that  it  would  indeed 
be  exasperating  if  I  got  nothing  of  my  own  chicken 
but  the  smell  from  another  man's  oven. 

Gilbert  {suddenly).    My  dear  sir  I    My  deaf  st  1 


90  A  UTTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

A  thought  strikes  mc  I  A  regular  merry  thought  I 
Why  not  take  pot-luck  and  dine  with  us  ? 

ToLBOOTH.    With  you  ?    But — ^but  .  ,  , 

Gilbert.  Oh,  never  mind  the  huts  I  You  must  I 
(Casual,  lofty  tone.)  We  had  reaUy  thought  of  going 
to  the  Savoy  for  dinner.     But  luckily  .  .  . 

ToLBOOTH.  Well,  I  sincerely  hope  that  I  and  my 
confounded   chicken  haven't   spoiled  your  evening  I 

Gilbert.  Far  from  it,  my  dear  Mr.  Tolbooth— 
far  from  it.    Then  you'll  stay  ? 

ToLBOOTH.  Well,  thanks,  I'm  so  infernally  hungry. 
But  your  wife  .  .  . 

{Re-enter  Sybil,  r.) 

Gilbert.  She'll  be  perfectly  delighted.  Sybil, 
Mr.  Tolbooth  will  do  us  the  honour  to  join  us  in  our 
frugal  repast. 

Sybil.    Gilbert  I    {She  collapses,  lounge  R.) 

(Tolbooth  looks  at  her,  conscious  that  the  invitation  it 

not  seconded.) 

Tolbooth  {regretfully).  Thanks — ^but  I'm  afraid  I 
couldn't  impose  myself  on  you. 

Gilbert,  Nonsense  I  My  wife  is  merely  reluct- 
ant to  put  before  you  such  frugal  fare  as  we  have  to 
offer  you! 

Sybil  {still  half  hysterical).  We  shall  be  delighted, 
Mr.  Tolbooth. 

Gilbert.  Exactly  !  Pray  sit  down !  {He  pushes 
him  almost  violerdly  into  a  chair.)  Please  let  me  explain 
things.  Fact  is,  my  doctor  has  advised  me  that  as  a 
literary  man — and — er — subject  to — er — attacks  of 
morbid  sluggishness  of — the — er — cerebral  regions — 
due  to  gastronomic  indiscretions  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing — er — I  should  be  well  advised  to  limit  the  ntmi- 
ber  of  my  dishes.  "  Be  sparse !  "  he  says,  and  sparse 
it  is  I  And  so  .  .  .  the  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  '  By  the  way, 
what  is  the  menu  to-night,  dear  ? 


A   LITTLE   FOWL  PLAY.  ftl 

Sybil  {with  an  effort).    Chi-chi  ...    I    mean,    a 

bttle  fowl ! 

Gilbert.  A  little  fowl  I  No,  really  ?  How  ex- 
traordinary I  Of  course  !  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays  a 
little  fowl  I  And  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Tolbooth,  that  I  have 
to  be  very  careful  in  thematterof  vegetables,  and  limit 
myself  to  just  about  one  potato — no  green  vegetables 
whatever  .  .  .  and  perhaps  just  a  smattering  of  maca- 
roni ...  or  a  little  rice  ...  a  very  little  rice. 

Tolbooth.     Plow  dreadful ! 

Gilbert.  But  if  a  nice  juicy  chicken. . . .  {To  Sybil.) 
I  think  you  said  chicken,  dear  ?— and  a  few  pommcs 
4  la  nature — in  other  words,  plain  boile<l — and  a 
lee-tle  touch  of  cheese — 

{Looking  ai  Sybil,   who  anxiously  shakes  her  head 

violently.) 

No — no  cheese — and  then,  by  way  of  dessert,  a 
very  fine  banana  and  the  choice  of  two  apples  .  .  . 

Tolbooth.    Oh,  pray  ...  I 

Gilbert.  Not  in  the  least  I  To-night  all  we  have 
is  yours  !     {Ringing  hell.) 

Tolbooth.  Really,  you  are  too  hospitable !  Did 
I  hear  you  say  you  pursue  a  literary  career,  Mr  .  .  . 
er  .  .  .  ? 

Gilbert  {pointing  to  desk).  Yes,  and  there's  the 
litter  !     My  name's  Warren — Gilbert  Warren. 

Tolbooth  {as  if  trying  to  recollect  the  name).  Gil- 
bert Warren  1 

{Re-enter  Mary.) 

Gilbert.  Mary !  lay  the  chicken — I  mean  the 
dinner^ — in  the  other  room — for  three.  (Careless  tone.) 
Only  three  to-night. 

{Exit  Mary.) 

Tolbooth.  Gilbert  Warren  I  Now  I've  got  it  I 
WeU,  what  an  extraordinary  coinddence  ! 


U  A  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY. 

Gilbert.    Why  ?  .  .  .  What  ?  .  .  , 

ToLBOOTH.  Really  most  remarkable!  Have  yon 
by  chance  written  any  novels,  Mr.  Warren  ? 

Gilbert.  Stacks  of  'em !  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
they  aren't  actually  published  yet. 

ToLBOOTH.  And  may  I  ask  if  a  novel  called  Twin 
Souls  is  one  of  them  ? 

Gilbert.  Tienn  Sotdsf  It's  my  masterpiece  I 
Why,  what  .  .  .  ? 

ToLBOOTH,  Why,  I  have  only  this  very  day  recom- 
mended it  most  wartrdy  to  mv  firm  ! 

Gilbert.    What,  to  North  &  West  I 

ToLBOOTH.    Exactly  I    I    read    fiction  for   them  I 

Gilbert  (rushing  to  Sybii^.  Sybil!  {J^arm em- 
brace.)   My  dear  sir ! 

{Grasps  his  hands,  ard  then  rushes  hack  to  Sybil, 
whirling  her  round  in  a  dance,  into  which  he  tJien 
drags  Tolbooth  willy-nilly.) 

ToLBOOTH  {breaking  away).  What  a  festive  evoi- 
Ing! 

Gilbert  {suddenly).  And  how  much  do  you  thinlc 
I  can  have  on  account  ? 

Tolbooth.  Ah  !  I  never  touch  the  business  side; 
But  that  book,  sir,  should  bring  you  fame  and  fortune. 

Sybil.  I  think  his  strong  point  is  fiction,  Mr.  Tol- 
booth. 

Tolbooth.    Yes,  he  tells  a  story  remarkably  well. 

Gilbert.  As  you  say,  Mr.  Tolbooth,  this  is  indeed 
a  memorable  evening.  And  my  only  regret  is  that 
,  ,  .  owing  entirely  to  doctor's  orders  ...  I  haven't 
«  drain  of  anything  in  the  house  to  drink  your  jolly 
l^ood  health  in  ! 

Tolbooth.  My  dear  Mr.  Warren.  Listen!  I 
have  a  bottle  or  two  of  choice  Burgundy  downstaAs 
that  was  to  have  washed  my  own  chicken  down  .  .  . 

Gilbert.  Burgundy!  Mr.  Tolbooth!  Not  Bur- 
gundy ...   I 

Tolbooth.    Tes,  sir,  two  bottles  of  the  best    And 


▲  LITTLE  FOWL  PLAY.  SI 

if  you  wiD  allow  me  to  send  your  maid  downstairs 
with  a  message  to  my  housclceeper  .  .  . 

Gilbert.  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Tolbooth,  you're  the 
universal  provider  I 

Tolbooth.  Not  at  all.  If  I  share  your  chickeo 
you  must  share  my  wine ! 

{Re-enter  Marv,  r.) 

Mary.    Dinner  is  served,  sir. 
Tolbooth.    Ah,  allow  me!    {To  Sybil.) 

{Exii  Mary,  r.) 

(Sybil  takes  Tolbooth's  proffered  arm,  and  they  gc 

towards  door  R.) 

{As  ihey  reach  it,  Tolbooth  turns  round  towards  Gil- 
bert, speaking  over  his  shoulder.) 

Tolbooth.  How  very,  very  fortunate  that  I  called 
after  my  chicken ! 

{Exeunt,) 

Gilbert  {twirling  gaily  round  on  one  fcg').  Yes,  but 
I'm  jolly  glad  your  chicken  called  first  I 

{A  sudden  thought  strikes  him,  and  he  pauses  in  follow- 

ing  them.) 

I  wonder  whether  I  dare  touch  hun  ixx  that  four  and 
ax-i  ence  1 

Curtain. 

End. 


MRS.  PARTRIDGE  PRESENTS 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Mary  Kennedy  and  Euth  Haw- 
thorne. 6  males,  6  females.  Modem  costumes.  2  interiora. 
Plays  2Vy  hours. 

The  choraoters,  scenes  ond  sitnations  are  thoroughly  up-to- 
date  In  this  altogether  delightful  American  comedy.  The  heroine 
is  a  woman  of  tremendous  energy,  who  manages  a  business — as 
•he  manages  everything — with  great  success,  and  at  home  pre- 
sides over  the  destinies  of  a  growing  son  and  daughter.  Her 
struggle  to  give  the  children  the  opportunities  she  herself  had 
miseed.  and  the  children's  ultimate  revolt  against  her  well-meant 
management — that  is  the  basis  of  the  plot.  The  son  who  is  cast 
for  the  part  of  artist  and  the  daughter  %vho  is  to  go  on  the  stage 
offer  numerous  opportunities  for  the  development  of  the  comie 
possibilities  in  the  theme. 

The  play  is  one  of  the  moBt  delightful,  yet  thought-provoking 
American  comedies  of  recent  years,  and  is  warmly  recommended 
t«  all  amateur  groups.     (Royalty  on  application.)     Price,  75  Cent*. 


IN   THE   NEXT   ROOM 

Melodrama  in  3  acts.     By  Eleanor  Robson  and  Harriet 

I*ord.     8  males,  3  females.    2  interiors.     Modem  costumes. 

Pbkys  2%  hours. 

"Philip  Vantine  has  bought  a  rare  copy  of  an  original  Boulc 
cabinet  and  ordered  it  shipped  to  his  New  York  home  from  Paris, 
When  it  arrives  it  is  found  to  be  the  original  Itself,  the  pes- 
»«aeion  of  which  is  desired  by  many  strange  i)eople.  Before  th« 
■aystery  concerned  with  the  cabinet's  shipment  ean  be  cleared 
■p,  two  persons  meet  mysterious  death  fooling  with  it  and  toe 
iMppiness  of  many  otherwise  happy  actors  is  threatened"  (Bums 
Mantle).  A  first-rate  mystery  play,  comprising  all  the  elements 
•f  suspense,  curiosity,  comedy  and  drama.  "In  the  Next  Room" 
is  quite  easy  to  stage.  It  can  be  unreservedly  recommended  %» 
Mfli     sebools     and     coUegee.       (Royalty,     twenty-five     dollars.) 

Price,  75  0«oU. 


SAMUXX.  TBJEXCB,  26  West  46th  Street,  Me*  Tork  Otty 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


ARE   YOU   A   MASON? 

Farce  in  3  acts.  By  Leo  Ditrichstcin.  7  males,  7  fe- 
males.    Modern  costumes.     Plays  2'/4  hours.     1  interior, 

"Are  You  a  Mason!"  is  one  of  those  delightful  farces  like 
"Charley's  Aurit"  that  are  always  fresh.  "A  mother  and  a 
daughter,"  says  the  critic  of  the  New  York  Herald,  "had  hus- 
bands who  account  for  absences  from  the  joint  household  on 
frequent  evenings,  falsely  pretending  to  be  Masons.  The  men 
do  not  know  each  other's  duplicity,  and  each  tells  his  wife  of 
having  advanced  to  leadership  in  his  lodge.  The  older  woman 
was  so  well  pleased  with  her  husband's  supposed  distinction  in 
the  order  that  she  made  him  promise  to  put  up  the  name  of  a 
visiting  friend  for  membership.  Further  perplexity  over  the 
pr'ncipal  liar  arose  when  a  suitor  for  his  second  daughter's  hand 
proved  to  be  a  real  Mason.  ...  To  tell  the  story  of  the  play 
would  require  volumes,  its  complications  are  so  numerous.  It  is 
a  house  of  cards.  One  card  wrongly  placed  and  the  whole  thing 
would  collapse.  But  it  stands,  an  example  of  ramarkable  in- 
genuity. You  wonder  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  how  the  fun 
can  be  kept  up  on  such  a  slender  foundation.  But  it  continues 
and  grows  to  the  last  curtain."  One  of  the  most  hilariously 
amusing  farces  ever  written,  especially  suited  to  schools  and 
Masonic  Lodges.     (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)       Price,  75  Cents. 


KEMPY 

A  delightful  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  J.  C.  Nugent  and 
Elliott  Nugent.  4  males,  4  females.  1  interior  throughout. 
Costumes,  modern.     Plays  2i/4  hours. 

No  wonder  "Kempy"  has  been  such  a  tremendous  hit  in  New 
York,  Chicago — wherever  it  has  played.  It  sna-ps  with  wit  and 
humor  of  the  most  delightful  kind.  It's  electric.  It's  small- 
town folk  perfectly  pictured.  Full  of  types  of  varied  sorts,  each 
one  done  to  a  turn  and  served  with  zestful  sauce.  An  ideal 
entertainment  for  amusement  purposes.  The  story  is  about  a  high- 
falutin'  daughter  who  in  a  fit  of  pique  marries  the  young  plumber- 
architect,  who  comes  to  fix  the  water  pipes,  just  because  he 
"understands"  her,  having  read  her  book  and  having  sworn  to 
marry  the  authoress.  But  in  that  story  lies  all  the  humor  that 
kept  the  audience  laughing  every  second  of  every  act.  Of  course 
there  are  lots  of  ramifications,  each  of  which  bears  its  own  brand 
of  laughter-making  potentials.  But  the  plot  and  the  story  are 
not  the  main  things.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  work  of  tho 
company.  The  fun  growing  out  of  this  family  mixup  is  lively  and 
clean.      (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents, 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 


ON   THE   HIRING   LINE 

Comedy  in  3  acts,  by  Harvey  O'Higgins  and  Harriet 
Ford.  5  males,  4  females.  Interior  throughout.  Costumes, 
modern.     Plays  2^4  hours. 

Sherman  Fessenden,  unable  to  induce  servants  to  remain  for 
any  reasonable  length  of  time  at  his  home,  hits  upon  the  novel 
expedient  of   engaging   detectives  to   serve  as   domestics. 

His  second  vv^ife,  an  actress,  weary  of  the  country  and  longing 
for  Broadway,  has  succeeded  in  discouraging  every  other  cook  and 
butler  against  remaining  long  at  the  house,  believing  that  by  so 
doing  she  will  win  her  husband  to  ho-r  theory  that  country  life 
is  dead.  So  she  is  deeply  disappointed  when  she  finds  she  cannot 
discourage  the  new  servants. 

The  sleuths,  believing  they  had  been  called  to  report  on  the 
actions  of  those  living  with  the  Pessendens,  proceeded  to  warn 
Mr.  Fessenden  that  his  wife  has  been  receiving  love-notes  from 
Steve  Mark,  an  actor  friend,  and  that  his  daughter  has  been 
planning  to  elope  with  a  thief. 

One  sleuth  causes  an  uproar  in  the  house,  making  a  mess  of 
the  situations  he  has  witnessed.  Mr.  Fessenden,  however,  has 
learned  a  lesson  and  is  qnite  willing  to  leave  the  servant  problem 
to  his  wife  thereafter.      (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cents 


A  FULL   HOUSE 

A  farcical  comedy  in  3  ncl^s.  By  Fred  Jackson.  7  males, 
7  females.  One  interior  scene.  Modern  costumes.  Time, 
VjVz   hours. 

Imagine  a  reckless  and  wealthy  youth  who  writes  ardent 
love  letters  to  a  designing  chorus  girl,  an  attorney  brother- 
in-law  who  steals  the  letters  and  then  gets  his  hand-bag  mixed 
up  with  the  grip  of  a  burglar  who  has  just  stolen -a  valuable 
necklace  from  the  mother  of  the  indiscreet  youth,  and  the 
efforts  of  the  crook  to  recover  his  plunder,  as  incidents  in 
the  story  of  a  play  in  which  the  swiftness  of  the  action 
never  halts  for  an  instant.  Not  only  are  the  situations  scream- 
ingly funny  but  the  lines  themselves  hold  a  fund  of  humor  a,\ 
all  times.  This  newest  and  cleverest  of  all  farces  was  writtet 
by  Fred  Jackson,  the  well-known  short-story  writer,  and  is 
backed  up  by  the  prestige  of  an  impressive  New  York  success 
and  the  promise  of  unlimited  fun  presented  in  the  most  attrac* 
tive  form.  A  cleaner,  cleverer  farce  has  not  been  seen  for  many 
a  long  day.  "A  Full  House"  is  a  house  full  of  laughs.  (Royalty, 
tvirenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

SAMUEL  FEENCH.  25  West  ^^th  Street,  New  York  City 


